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Altug Aug 2018
simpler hours- parcel of delicate childhood recollections.
flaking by the sweet, solemn whispers of remeberance.
a longing seed who seeped from my juvenile soul and drug itself directly below its feet- feeding into the loose dirt of our starving earth.
giving animation to the trees that mutate into robust vines- who bergeron and persistently haunt the hollows of my head- thriving ceaselessly.
serenity cowards and curls back up into itself.

— The End —